Unsportsmanlike Conduct

by Sophia Henry

  “Number three,” Auden continued, “Svetlana is engaged to Arkady Zukarov, the Washington Capitals’ star player. That girl is not trading hockey royalty for Pavel Gribov.”

  Was it really that simple? That easily explained? “There’s nothing between them?” I asked.

  Auden leaned toward me, grabbed one of my hands, and brought it to her lap. “Look, I’ve had my issues with Gribov. You know that. But I would never tell you to give him another chance if I knew he was a two-timing douchebag. I’m not telling you what to do. You know him a lot better than I do. Hell, you know him better than anyone.”

  I thought I did. “Do you think he was telling the truth about the real stuff? Like his past?” I asked. Before she had a chance to speak up, I continued. “I need honesty here.”

  “I one million percent think he was telling the truth about all of that. Especially after what he told Sasha and me when he came to apologize to us.”

  “He apologized to you?”

  “Well, mostly to Sasha. I mean, he apologized for ruining our reception, which was solid, because I never thought I’d hear him admit to that. Then he apologized for blaming Sasha’s parents for the accident. And for all the anger and grief he took out on him. He said he wanted to try again for a better friendship.”

  I put a hand over my mouth. “Aleksandr’s dad was the one driving when their parents were in the accident?”

  Auden nodded. “Aleksandr said that losing his parents wrecked Pasha.” Auden shook her head. “Which I understand, ya know?”

  I nodded. Auden’s mom had been murdered when Auden was six years old. She’s learned to trust and to grieve in a healthy way, but when something that tragic happens, it shapes who you are as a person. And it’s hard to change.

  Suddenly Auden sprang from the couch. “Almost forgot.” She crossed the room to retrieve her messenger bag from the kitchen table. She dug around and handed me a plastic grocery bag. “Sorry about the wrapping. This is how it was given to me.”

  “What is this?”

  Auden shrugged. “I didn’t open it.” She pushed the bag at me.

  Inside was a cylinder-shaped object bundled in brown paper. I unrolled it slowly. On my lap, snuggled in the bed of brown paper, lay the green bottle Pasha had thrown into the bay in San Juan. I squeezed my eyes shut. This had to be a dream. That bottle couldn’t be sitting on my legs.

  When I opened my eyes, it was still there. Still stuffed with the faux parchment paper Pasha had written on and shoved inside.

  “Ooh, pretty. What’s that from?” Auden asked, leaning over to get a better glimpse.

  “Pasha and I threw bottles into the water in San Juan.” I shook my head in disbelief. “How did he get this back?”

  My thumb caressed the cork at the top of the bottle. It didn’t feel right to open it, but I knew that was what Pasha had wanted when he’d sent it with Auden. My stomach tightened, dying to see what he’d written.

  I tugged out the cork and banged the glass against my palm. The paper had unrolled inside and couldn’t fit through the opening.

  “You open it from the bottom,” Auden said quickly when she noticed me struggling. “Totally forgot I was supposed to tell you that.”

  “Thanks.” I squinted at the bottle and saw a line near the bottom. After I unscrewed it, the paper fell out. I picked it up and read the message.

  Thank you for accepting and understanding me. I needed a strong, independent woman in my life again. A week with you changed me. You will live a long, wonderful life. You will find the type of man who deserves you. One who will take you on adventures but always keep you safe. One who will appreciate your strength and courage and never dim your bright spirit. One who will love you more than he loves himself. I wish it could have been me.

  My heartbeat quickened and my jaw tightened. I read the note until the words became blurry from the tears filling my eyes.

  “The Pilots are playing at Martin Arena tonight,” Auden said. She ducked under the strap of her messenger bag, adjusting it on her shoulder before fastening it across her body. “Just saying.”

  A teardrop rolled down my cheek when I lifted my head to look at her. “You think I should go?”

  “Yes. I think you should get off your ass and work it out with him. Because after meeting you he’s been a different person. And he’s almost as wrecked without you as he was about his parents’ car accident.” Auden paused as if contemplating whether or not to share her next thought. “His career is suffering. I’m not blaming that on you, believe me. He’s never been able to handle grief. And he still can’t. Losing you was like losing his mom again. You two were the only ones who ever told him he was a good person. I certainly never did. And I feel horrible for judging him before I knew where he was coming from. Instead of trying to understand him, I brushed him off. Pretty hypocritical, eh? Since I hated when people did that to me.”

  My heart hurt for Pasha. The reactions he got from other people were something he brought on himself, with his arrogance and standoffishness. But that was his defense, his way of keeping people away, of not letting them get too close.

  Though I knew Pasha didn’t want to turn out like his father, I realized now that he was using the things he’d learned from him to keep his heart safe. I figured he’d be pissed if I pointed that out to him.

  Pissed and hurt. I didn’t want to do that to him. I’d rather help him see how much better life could be if he softened a little. If he allowed people to penetrate the walls.

  “Okay.” I wiped my face with both hands, smearing tears across my cheeks. Then I jumped up and wrapped my arms around my best friend.

  Auden’s body tensed, steeling herself for a huge squeeze. But I didn’t crush her with my arms. Instead I took her face in my hands and smothered her cheeks with quick kisses.

  “I love you. I love you,” I said each time I changed my lip placement.

  “Get off me, you freak!” she said through giggles. She wriggled, trying to bust out of my hold.

  “Nope.” I stopped the silly kisses but didn’t let go. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” Auden relaxed and let me hug her. “Now go take a shower and wash the stale smell of heartache away.”

  Chapter 39

  DAY 127

  DETROIT, MI

  Less than an hour after my shower, I was on my way to Martin Arena. I tuned my radio to AM 1130, the sports radio station that carried the Pilots’ games. Thank goodness Auden had told me that; I would’ve been pressing the scan button on my radio forever.

  I heard one of the announcers say, “The Pilots’ former leading scorer, Pavel Gribov, just dropped his gloves against Dalton Ward, the Ice Dogs’ resident enforcer.”

  The other announcer commented, “Gribov picked at Ward last night, trying to get him to fight. And it’s just not like him. I mean, Gribov’s no stranger to trouble. His chirping usually makes him a target. But dropping the gloves is really out of character for him.”

  “Ward lands a jab,” said the first, “but look at Gribov! He’s got Ward by the jersey. Gribov with an uppercut. Gribov with a right and another right. Ward’s helmet goes flying. He’s trying to hold Gribov off, but—oh! Gribov with another uppercut and four quick rights!”

  “Wow! Where’s Gribov been hiding that uppercut?” joked the other.

  “Pavel Gribov has found his rhythm, folks. Ward’s on his back. And there’s the linesman.”

  Said the second announcer, “I’ll bet Gribov gets the instigator penalty on top of the automatic five for fighting here. He was jabbing at Ward, and that’s what started it all.”

  “Yes, he was, Don,” the first announcer noted. “This is so surprising. When Pavel Gribov started the season in Charlotte, I never thought we’d see him in a Pilots uniform again. But over the last two months he’s got more penalty minutes than points.”

  “Well, he’s obviously got some pent-up aggression. Maybe he can turn that around and get his scoring game bac
k on track.”

  “And you were right, Don—Gribov gets the extra two for instigating. Pilots coach Rich Vincent is not gonna be happy about this turn of events.”

  “I’m surprised Gribov hasn’t been benched yet. Vincent isn’t known for letting his players get away with this kind of hotheadedness.”

  I turned the volume down when a commercial for a local tire company filled the air, replacing the hockey game announcers. Though most hockey terms were almost completely foreign to me, I knew what a penalty was, and I obviously knew what fighting was.

  What was he doing? Why was he screwing up his entire career? It couldn’t be about me. I refused to believe that I had that much power over his mental state. Elite athletes are trained to be more disciplined than that.

  Rain pelted my window as I drove down I-75 toward downtown Detroit. The robotic voice of my navigation system kept me on course, though I knew the way. I’d been to Martin Arena once for a concert.

  What was I planning to do once I got to the arena? How was I going to get in? I didn’t have a ticket. I didn’t think there was a lobby you walked into. If Martin was anything like Robinson, the old arena, the doors had to be opened from the inside. Unless, of course, you worked there and could use a separate entrance.

  Separate entrance…Boom. I’d drive around to the lot where the band tour buses parked. It had to be the same lot where the players parked their cars, right?

  Five more minutes and I’d be there. Five more minutes and I’d see Pasha. Five more minutes and I’d ask for his forgiveness. Technically, it’d be more, since I’d have to wait until after the game to talk to him.

  The rain came down harder, and I had to flip my wipers to the highest speed—the annoying speed that doesn’t really help, because if it’s raining hard enough to use it, you can’t see no matter what. I gripped the wheel tighter and took my foot off the gas pedal.

  A second later, everything went black.

  Chapter 40

  DAY 128

  DETROIT, MI

  My eyes fluttered open and I took a sharp breath. The hospital room looked as familiar as my childhood bedroom, and brought almost as much comfort. If I was in the hospital, it meant I was alive.

  I reached up and touched the mask covering my mouth and nose, filling my lungs with pure oxygen. Another familiar staple of my experience in the hospital. A hot pink fleece blanket lay draped across the lower half of my body, on top of the standard thin white blanket.

  The accident flashed through my mind. A car traveling in the left lane on I-75 had suddenly left its lane and crossed over the other lanes of the highway. I’d jammed on my brakes immediately, which didn’t help much in the torrential downpour. The back of that car had clipped the front of mine and sent my car spinning. I had been able to tell from the impact that the car behind me had hit my car, too. But I didn’t remember anything after that. I figured I must’ve passed out when I’d smashed the side of my head into the driver’s side window. I reached up, touched my face, and winced when I felt the soreness and swelling.

  I looked over and could see my mom’s purse and my dad’s jacket and book on the chairs near my bed. It was around noon, so I figured they’d left to grab lunch. The door to my hospital room was open a crack, and through that opening, I saw a familiar figure pass. Then I heard his voice, demanding the nurses tell him which room I was in. I couldn’t hear the responses, but it didn’t sound like he was getting the information he wanted.

  “I am going to open every door for every room in this place. I need to see my wife!” Pasha threatened.

  Wife? More lies to get what he wants? Surprise, surprise.

  Only this time, his lie didn’t piss me off. The fabrication gave me hope that he’d forgiven me, despite my never having made it to Martin Arena for my grand please-take-me-back gesture.

  Seconds later the door hinge squeaked, alerting me that someone had entered my room. The first thing I noticed was the smell of his body wash. The sandalwood and amber scent flooded my head with amazing memories of our time on the cruise. I squeezed my eyes closed to halt any tears that those memories brought on. Instead of opening them again, I relaxed and pretended to be asleep—or, ya know, unconscious.

  I know letting him believe I couldn’t communicate was horrible and selfish, but I wanted to hear what he had to say. He didn’t know I’d been on my way to the arena to apologize. Despite the fact that we’d run into each other three times in the last month, he hadn’t made any effort to continue our relationship. I needed to know why he’d asked Auden to give me the message in a bottle. And why he was running around the hospital like a madman.

  This moment was the closest I’d get to being at my own funeral. Even as I had that thought, I realized that it made me sound like a super-morbid nutcase.

  “Kristen,” Pasha whispered. He slid his fingers over mine and squeezed my hand. “KK, please open your eyes.”

  Silence filled the room. Pasha’s firm grip and sweet warm scent kept me grounded in the moment. Safety.

  “You’re not gonna go down like them. Like this. We’re gonna get eaten by alligators or smash on the ground after we skydive together. This…this is not the way.” Pasha’s breathing rate increased, and I heard him sniffle.

  It broke my heart.

  Just then I heard the distinct squeak of a nurse wheeling a cart into my room.

  “What are you doing in here?” The nurse’s voice got closer and closer. “Who are you?”

  My throat ached, dehydrated by the dry air I inhaled from the oxygen mask through slightly parted, chapped lips. I tried to speak, knowing that it would blow my cover, but only a hiss escaped, and the attempt hurt so badly, my eyes filled with tears beneath their closed lids. A drop slipped out, making its way down my face and over the huge puff of my swollen cheek.

  Trapped inside my own lie. I wasn’t any better than Pasha was.

  —

  “I am a volunteer here. On the children’s floor,” I explained to Kristen’s nurse. It didn’t mean shit in this situation, but I hoped it would soften her stance on the hospital rules.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re in this room,” the nurse responded in a calm but stern voice.

  “She’s gonna wake up, yes? She can’t stay like this. She’s not gonna die like this?” I asked. My voice shook with the words. “She can’t die like this.”

  “I can’t talk about her health with you unless you’re family.”

  “I am her husband,” I said, hoping complete and total confidence would make the lie convincing.

  “Her husband, eh?” The nurse tapped away at the portable computer she’d wheeled into the room. “No notes about a husband in here.” She paused. “No ring on her finger.”

  “Secret wedding. On a cruise.” I wouldn’t give up. I’d say whatever I had to until she let me stay.

  “I’ll let you sit with her until her parents get back to confirm your story. But I can’t tell you anything about her condition. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I nodded.

  I took Kristen’s hand and squeezed it as the nurse performed a series of tasks. From countless hours here with other patients, I knew there was a routine to each nurse’s visit. I waited for the nurse to leave before I began speaking.

  “Everything I did was wrong. I should have been honest. I want you to love me. But I fucked it all up,” I said, gently massaging Kristen’s hand as I spoke. “I cannot think. I cannot play. I’ll lose my career soon. I can’t function without you.”

  I stopped talking but kept working on her hand, sliding my fingers along each of hers and kneading her palm with my thumb. I had no medical background, but I’d read that physical contact helps some people respond.

  I couldn’t stop my brain from straying back to all of the intimate moments we’d shared. I didn’t even mean the sex. I ached for the intimacy of being with someone I trusted and understood.

  I slid my palm over her head, touching her softly. Then, using slightly more
pressure, I pushed the hair off her forehead.

  “I love you, KK.” I lowered my lips to her swollen cheek, pressing softly. “I’ve spent all this time pissed off. When my parents died—” I stopped and took a deep breath. “When my mother died, I forgot how to live. I forgot how to be happy. I didn’t let myself care about anyone. I didn’t want to love someone when every time I do, they die. Then you ran into me on that track and everything changed. I’d never met anyone who made me so happy. You took the time to understand me and care about me. And then you told me you would die. Just like everyone else, but sooner.”

  The metal legs of the chair scraped against the floor as I scooted closer to the bed.

  “I think and think, KK. I think about only you. What is the Pilots’ record? I don’t know. How many goals do I have this year? Probably zero. A ghost cannot score.

  “When you told me about the seriousness of your disorder, I was scared, but I wanted to be there for you. I only care about my life when you’re in it. I—”

  I paused, trying to think of the correct words. “English. English. Fuck.” I’d never had to use English to express my adoration for someone. It was a test of my vocabulary.

  “I will love you every day you have on this earth. I will live to make you happy. I want to be this person for you. You deserve the happiest life. This life includes me. We will do this together. We’ll fight. We’ll live. We’ll love. We won’t think about the bad. Yes, I’m afraid to lose you, but if I spend every second of my life in love with you, I know I lived the best life.”

  “Who are you?” A woman’s voice rang through the room.

  I turned around, expecting to see another nurse I’d be able to sweet-talk into allowing me to stay.

  Instead, I saw a replica of Kristen—same eyes and cheekbones—only this woman was twenty years older. And she’d brought a Greek army.

  Chapter 41

  DAY 128

  DETROIT, MI

  Pavel dropped my hand and pushed backward in the chair. “I am Pasha.”